


Ghosting Among the Glades

by BrokenHazelEyes



Series: OT4- Greg/Ed/Sam/Spike [44]
Category: Flashpoint (TV)
Genre: Author has no clue what they're doing????, Coma, Hurt Spike, Other, Spike Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 10:26:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5001175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenHazelEyes/pseuds/BrokenHazelEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was Spike, eyes closed and lips just slightly parted, on hospital-white sheets. Text below the image read, with only a phone number to accompany it: </p>
<p>DO YOU KNOW THIS MAN?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghosting Among the Glades

**Author's Note:**

> Alright so off the bat.... Sorry Siennavie, this is kind off a spin off of the story you're working on... I mean, I'm not copying or anything but it's the same general idea of Spike going missing. So sorry, I can take it down if you think it's too close. :) just let me know.
> 
> A/N: Don't own Flashpoint, don't own characters, don't make any money off of this story. Please don't repost. Thanks.

September light flooded antiseptic white walls, washed across scuffed polished floors, reflected back on machinery screens. Perfectly cut, rectangular curtains hung from a metal bar, slapping against each other when today’s nurse snapped them shut. Her padded shoes plodded against the ground, her pace in time with the heart-rate monitor. Wires and cords weaved and slithered under her soles to outlets, sticky plastic holders and needles pressed under flesh.

“Good morning, Sir,” was what the nurse didn’t say, “how are you feeling today?” was what she didn’t ask. Center of the sterile bed, eyes shut and relaxed via drugs, was the man yet to awaken. The hospital’s latest coma patient. His mouth, chapped and pale pink, didn’t move to grin or playfully smile—the deep-set laugh lines gave it all away in his conscious absence.

“I wish you were awake,” She did mumble, checking the chart and scribbling down a signature, “then we could find out who you are faster. Get you back to your family.”

The man didn’t respond, but there was air entering his lungs—smoothly, without assistance—and a steady pulse under his chin.

Another nurse peaked in, scrubs bunched up from running, “Is that the John Doe?”

“Yeah, he’s been here two weeks now. Still hasn’t woken up.”

“Has anybody come forward? Any family?” The haggard nurse clucked sadly, walking into the room.

“No, Susy, nobody.”

Down the hallway, an alarm rang out—calling for a crash cart—and the unnamed nurse took off while Susy shouted that she’d clean up the room for her. The nurse’s gloves and empty-sterile packages sat on the sink.

“I can’t believe a cutie like you hasn’t been snatched up by your mom or something,” Susy chuckled, disposing of the garbage while checking the door. “Let’s see if we can fix that, okay? Just don’t tell my boss, she’ll have my ass.”

Opening the camera function of her phone, Susy quickly snapped a photo and then slipped the device back into her scrubs.

“Or you could wake up, make this a lot easier on me,” Susy tired, but the unnamed man remained lost in the coma. The nurse sighed. “Yeah, didn’t think that was going to work… Had to try, though.”

Leaving the John Doe’s room, Susy smiled back at the man and rested her hand on the doorway.

“We’ll get your loved ones, here. I promise. Now, all you got to do is wake up, buddy. Can’t have you sleeping when your guests arrive.” She said, motivation and positivity dripping from her modestly-painted lips.

 

* * *

 

Ed, shoulders taut and pressed back, watched as Greg sat on the couch scrolling through found person reports. Sam was siting, elbows on knees, next to the negotiator. It had been like this, silent and tense, for over two hours.

“It’s been three months, Greg. You know the statistics.”

Looking up sharply, Team One’s Sergeant glared.

“So we should just give up on him?” It was Sam who spoke, but uncertainty flashed across his face in the form of a bitten lip and downcast eyes. There was still violence under the surface of those docile actions, a scorned leopard waiting to be unleashed.

“No, I’m just…” Ed growled, unable to find the words, “I’m just saying you shouldn’t give yourselves false hope. This… is turning into a recovery mission.” The sniper faltered, unable to keep the cool detachment he’d achieved days prior. Well, barely achieved.

“Then we find him and give Spike a proper burial.” Greg bit back firmly. “It’s time for work, anyway.”

They didn’t talk after that.

The SRU didn’t wait for anyone, not even its lost member. Days went on, just like that one, filled with searching for Spike and answering hot calls.

Life just, simply, went on.

And nothing changed, except for when it did.

It ended up being Winnie that found it; the photo, the description. It was grainy, poorly taken, and the words didn’t flow professionally but it was still there. A choppy, ragged mess—but there. Nearly tangible…

It was Spike, eyes closed and lips just slightly parted, on hospital-white sheets. Text below the image read, with only a phone number to accompany it:

**DO YOU KNOW THIS MAN?**


End file.
